


With Eyes of Honest Longing

by madame_faust



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Breastfeeding, Durin Family, Durin Family Feels, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 08:43:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madame_faust/pseuds/madame_faust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for a prompt on the kink meme: "Dis is breastfeeding her young 'un - with Dwalin in the same room. He knows where he wants to look but is determinedly trying to look anywhere but at her breasts." With a healthy dollop of UST, complicated romantic feelings and Durin Family Feels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Eyes of Honest Longing

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit from this story. Read the original prompt and fill here: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/5821.html?thread=13028285#t13028285
> 
> This is longer than the version of the story I posted on the kink meme, the set-up went on FAR too long to stay within the confines of the fill, so I posted it here for interested parties.

Kíli came into the world with ten fingers, ten toes and a powerful wail. He was whole, he was healthy and he looked _nothing_ like his father. Dís had no idea whether the fact pleased her or not. 

Once the afterbirth was delivered and Dís herself cleaned and steadied on her feet enough to sit in bed and take a well-deserved rest, she was finally able to hold her son. Óin washed the lad and wrapped him up like a sausage roll, placing him in her arms. It seemed the room held its breath, her brother watched her especially closely. It was an easier labor than Fíli’s, only lasting two days, but Dís could not recall feeling this _exhausted_ when she held her eldest son the first time. Perhaps the hours seemed longer because there was so much quiet. 

When she’d labored with Fíli, Víli sang to her, teased her and even dared laugh as he rubbed her back, bathed her forehead and let her grip his arms to bruising when the birth pains were upon her. Thorin was largely silent, though no less supportive. They were different as night and day, her husband and her brother. Funny that the babe in her arms should look so much like Thorin. Funny, but she hardly felt inclined to laugh.

That was, until she got a good look at his ears, too big and prominent for such a tiny creature. “Poor lad,” she said a smile breaking over her face like a sunbeam on a cloudy day, effectively cutting the tension in the room. “He’s got my jughandles.” 

Víli claimed her ears were her second-best feature. Her eyes obviously won out, as blue as he imagined the sea must be, though he’d never seen it. But the ears, just a bit too big for her head, sticking out noticeably when she put her hair up, delighted him. They gave her face ‘interest,’ he said and Dís pulled a face whenever he did so because that was precisely the thing a parent might say to comfort a plain child. Víli was _not_ her parent and he would pull her hair back and kiss the shell of her ear, his beard tickling the side of her neck.

“He might grow into them,” Thorin shrugged, sitting next to his sister and peering at his newest nephew. 

Dís raised her eyebrows at him. “I never did,” she pointed out.

“You’ve got the same ears I have,” he rightly observed.

“True,” Dís nodded. “But you’ve also got a bigger head than I do, they suit you.” Thorin smiled and put an arm around her shoulder, drawing her and Kíli close to him. Neither said another word for a moment, they just looked down at the newest addition to their family, studying his shock of dark hair, the lightest shadow of peach fuzz on his cheeks. The infant’s eyes popped open and _there_ was some trace of Víli within him at last. His eyes were not the stormy blue of the line of Durin, but a dark brown, flecked with what looked like pieces of amber deep within.

Dís smiled and kissed him gently on the top of his head. “I wish...” she began, then broke off, biting her lip. It was not only her husband who would never meet his son, but her parents who did not live to see their line endure, her brother who would never know his nephews (and _how_ he would have loved them!), so many others lost to dragonfire, battle or the long road of their exile.

Thorin knew her regret instinctively, for he shared it. “I know,” he said quietly, kissing her on the head and squeezing her tight. “They would have been very proud.”

As if to save them from themselves, Hervor’s unmistakable mane of red hair popped through the doorway before she did. “Up for visitors?” she asked brightly. 

“Always,” Dís smiled and prepared to relinquish her grip on her son. There was no occasion more joyous in their race than a birth, even one coming so soon on the heels of a tragedy. Dwarves adored children, as a rule and Dís prepared to be set upon by half the neighborhood within the coming weeks. The prospect did not fill her with utter delight, still feeling the loss of her husband keenly, but she knew that her children meant something to more people than herself and her immediate kin. To the exiles of Erebor, every dwarfling was a double-blessing, a sign that there was hope for the future and all their prospects had not gone up in smoke the night the dragon came. 

Hervor held her arms out expectantly, green eyes going soft at the sight of the tiny babe. “Oh,” she breathed as Dís lay him gently in her arms. “Oh, you _lovely_ lad. You’re going to look just like your Ama, aren’t you? You’re _such_ a handsome boy.”

“Noticed the ears, have you?” she asked wryly, leaning her head on Thorin’s shoulder. Her brother smoothed her hair out of her face and looked upon Kíli with an expression that was not quite a smile, but neither was it unhappy. He’d already held the boy - held him before his sister did - and though he was eternally grateful for Dís and her sons, he could not help wishing they had _more_. More than a tiny room in the Blue Mountains with a handful of kin and friends crowded anxiously in the sitting room. He did not recall the circumstances of Frerin’s birth well, but he clearly remembered the joy in the kingdom when his sister came into the world, there was feasting and toasting for days, gifts of the finest jewels, furs, mithril, gold and silver. 

When Fíli was born he was given wooden toys, woollen cloth and their family received gifts food and mead from the neighbors. Not that Thorin begrudged them such offerings, it was the best they could do and if he wanted to hold their gifts against those of long ago, their comparative worth was probably greater. Dís certainly never complained, but she had known more of deprivation than she had of finery. Her sons would be raised the same way. Kissing his sister one last time, Thorin rose from the bed to join their friends and family in the sitting room, silently vowing that, come what may, he would restore their home to them. Even if it was the last thing he ever did.

The visitors fairly poured in, Bofur, Bombur and Bifur arguing over who would be the first to hold him - Bifur won, being the eldest of the three, but Bofur held him the longest and made a show of running for the door with the child in his arms. That made Dís laugh for the first time all day, especially when he practically collided with Óin who turned the joke into an opportunity to lecture the miner about what was and was not appropriate behavior with a newborn. Hervor somehow managed to get him twice, the second time urging her husband to hold him. Glóin was surprisingly nervous about it, ordinarily being so bold. He held Kíli as though the child was made of glass and when he squirmed in his arms, immediately passed him back to Hervor, muttering something about being afraid to drop him. Balin, altogether more comfortable with dwarflings, being an elder sibling himself, came in with a very grumpy Fíli in his arms, hair mussed, having been roused from his nap specifically to meet his brother.

Dís took her eldest son upon her lap and kissed his tangled locks. Though he was only ever in the next room, she’d seen him very briefly over the last two days and missed him terribly. Fíli cooed contentedly and snuggled against her chest, on the verge of falling asleep again. “Just a minute, she said, turning him out to face Kíli who Balin turned so he was facing his brother. Fíli was so young that he only had a few words, but she and Thorin did their best to prepare him for his brother’s arrival. “You see?” she asked and Fíli’s drooping eyes opened a little wider as he saw the tiny, dozing bundle of dwarfling, merely a wrinkled face in the blankets. “Nadad. Brother.”

“Nadadith,” Balin added. “Younger brother.”

Fíli did not seem to appreciate the vocabulary lesson, but his attention was very much diverted by Kíli; it was not often that he saw a creature smaller than himself. “Kíli,” his mother added. “His name is Kíli.” She still had eight days before she would speak his True Name, but what he would be called in the common tongue was decided months ago.

 _That_ engaged Fíli’s interest, likely because the name was so similar to his own. “Kee?” he asked, looking at his mother questioningly.

“Aye,” she smiled and kissed him again. “That’ll do. Do you want to give him a kiss? Carefully, now.” Fíli took his mother’s words to heart, Balin extended the little bundle toward him and he very - _very_ \- gently pressed his lips against Kíli’s cheek. Then, imitating the embraces he’d seen the adults around him share, he lowered his forehead against his brother’s, utterly melting the heart of every dwarf in the room.

“You’re such a good lad,” Dís said, holding Fíli tightly. Eventually, Kíli woke and began wailing, which prompted his overtired brother to cry as well and Thorin took his elder nephew back to his room to finish sleeping. He took most of their visitors with him, until it was only Hervor and Dís left in the latter’s bedchamber.

“That’ll be fun - two crying at once,” Hervor observed, rocking Kíli. It was on the tip of Dís’s tongue to tell her friend that she was welcome to take one of them to her home whenever the fancy struck her, but she refrained. Hervor and Glóin were four years married and had no children yet. It was the way with most dwarrowdams, having two children born so close together so soon after a marriage was such a rarity that it invited commentary. 

Shrugging and taking her newborn back from her friend, Dís said, “Whenever you want to come over and lend a hand - ”

“Say no more,” Hervor declared. “You’ve got quite a job on your hands trying to get _rid_ of me, never mind asking me to stay. Anyway, Thyra’s send over a roast, I told Glóin to get the fire going, but mark me, they’ll not have started it yet.”

Dís was about to protest that they didn’t have to cook dinner, she could manage - but Hervor silenced her with a look. “We don’t have much to give, you know,” she said frankly. “Let us do what we can.”

Left alone with her son while her friends and family saw to dinner, Dís let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Now I’ve got you all to myself,” she said and the infant’s cries died down to whimpering at the sound of her voice. “Mark me, it won’t last long. You’ve got dozens of folks who are going to love you so much, Kíli, son of Víli.” Tracing his cheek she added, “And he loves you too. Loved you even before he met you.”

Dís was not in the habit of speaking to the dead. Oh, she called on her ancestors as often as any, swore by their beards and axes, but she never spoke to any she knew who’d passed on. It felt silly and self-indulgent. Even if they could hear her, they certainly could do nothing for her and in the end she was only talking to herself. 

Loosening the ties of her tunic, she sought to calm her son’s fussing by feeding him. The first time round it was easy, Fíli suckled right away - never endingly it seemed, that first year - and Dís assumed that the second time around would be much the same as the first. Kíli, being new born and not knowing this precedent, thought otherwise. Though he was obviously hungry from his cries, he was not latching on as expertly as his brother had done.

“You’re going to be a troublemaker, aren’t you?” Dís asked him and Kíli wailed in response. She tried switching sides - no help. She tried positioning him differently and, finally, after a great deal of trial and error, finally (Âkminrûk zu Mahal!) after pulling her tunic off her shoulders so that it pooled around her waist, holding him along the length of one arm like a loaf of bread and placing a pillow under her arm to lend extra support, he latched and was quietly content. 

Evidently they’d been at it quite a while for no sooner was Kíli enjoying his supper that Dwalin turned up with hers. He paused on the threshold, eyes immediately fixing on some spot over Dís’s left ear. “Got your supper,” he said, obviously.

“I’m not an invalid,” Dís protested, uselessly, since Dwalin placed it on the table next to her. She was grateful, she as _starving_ and could not get up for fear that, if she moved a fraction of an inch Kíli would forget how to latch, never do so again and subsequently starve to death. She smiled gratefully up at Dwalin and said, “Thank you - sorry you can’t hold him just at the moment, I promise you’re next when he’s through.”

“No hurry,” Dwalin smiled briefly, slid his eyes down to look at Kíli and then, just as quickly, looked away again. Dís tried mightily not to blush scarlet. There was nothing at all improprietous going on, mothers took down their tunics to nurse at work, at home, in the street, no one thought anything of it. How else were they meant to feed their children? Men sometimes stared, more in confusion than anything else. As she understood it their women were as bare on their chests as they were on their faces and Dís had personally seen more than one Man’s eyes nearly pop out of his head with the sudden realization that a dwarf he took to be male was actually a nursing mother. 

The sight was comical and usually they acted as Dwalin did, averting their eyes immediately, focusing on anything else as they attempted to gather themselves and not act foolish. But Dwalin had seen numerous nursing dwarrowdams in his life - had even seen Dís herself unclad bathing or changing clothes - it was close quarters and he was a frequent visitor and their standards of modesty were not those of Men - but reconciling the two, (the widowed mother and his immodest little tag-along) was a struggle. 

At least, that was what Dís wanted to believe was troubling him. For year she deluded herself that Dwalin occasionally found it hard to watch her grow up, that the transition from dwarfling to young woman was difficult for him because he preferred her to remain an age and size where he could protect her and shield her from the world’s hurts. That he was like her brother in that respect.

Once upon a time, that certainly was the case. Dís was the little sister he never had, he liked to boast that he taught her all she knew and he was pleased to have her dogging his steps. Her brothers adored her and he considered himself one of her brothers, however unofficially. Then one day he turned around and realized not only had his little tag-along grown up without his noticing, but he’d also fallen in love with her. 

He was not the only one. Dís was a dwarrowdam of no little beauty, strength and good humor. Dwalin never said a word about it, for both their sakes. For she pledged her troth to a golden-haired dwarrow lad who’d seen only a fraction of the sorrow she’d borne witness to in her short lifetime. She never had eyes for him and paid him no more mind than she did her brother. And if he ever suspected otherwise, well, he put it down to too much ale and his own wishful thinking. 

It was very important to him that she know nothing at all of his regard, for if she did, he did not doubt she would change her manner with him and the only thing worse than not having her was losing the easy rapport they shared. If he fled now as he wanted to, waiting to see her and the babe until she was fully clad again, she would know something was wrong. The thought made him feel vaguely ill - he, decades older than her, the grumpy old cousin and she young, beautiful, a _widow_ (therefore nearly untouchable)...no, he would not burden her with his love when she could not return it. So he pulled up a chair and tried to act as though nothing was troubling him, trying to keep his eyes on her face and off her exposed body, her full, heavy breasts, the inviting smattering of dark curls on her skin - he kept his eyes well away from all that.

Not that it did him any good, for Dís knew all. She had for years, though at first she thought she was being very vain for suspecting Dwalin’s regard for her ran deeper than familial affection. For what could he - proud, battle-scarred warrior, a champion of their people with one of the largest, most loyal hearts she’d ever known - see in a young, foolish girl like herself? Dwalin was all goodness, the best of their race given form and she felt unworthy of him and wary of him all at once.

Not wary of Dwalin himself, of course, she’d known him all her life and loved him with all her heart, but to couple with him, to _marry_ him, if that was what he wanted...no. When she realized what her infatuation was, she shied away from it, like a first year apprentice would an open flame in the smithy. For if Dwalin loved her and she let herself love him she saw only danger ahead of her. For he was all the worthiest traits of their people made flesh: loyalty, honor, bravery and strength. When the war drums pounded, he was first to answer the call, his face and body were a map of scars, beautiful and terrible to behold. She loved him. She wanted him. She refused to let herself have him for who knew how long it would be before some dreadful foe took him?

Víli was not unscarred, but his were altogether less impressive. A mark from where he’d been careless with his pick. A few souvenirs from pub brawls. He’d never seen the battlefield and likely never would. He had golden hair, eyes like honey and a sweet, ready laugh. She loved him, she _did_ love him, but more than Víli himself, she loved what he represented: Steadiness. Safety. A home at last.

And now he was gone too. Dwalin still wanted her and she did not know what to do. Was there anything she could do? She was still in the early stage of mourning, the _last_ thing she wanted to think about was love for anyone but family. Lucky for her, Dwalin was family, of a sort. And she would never turn cold toward him or push him away and have him leave her as well, not for all the gold in Erebor. 

Instead, she endeavored to ignore the discomfort of the situation and speak quite normally, though she clearly saw all that he was trying to hide. It was a good effort; if she hadn’t known his feelings, she would not have suspected, but she did know and she rather wanted to toss a blanket over herself and Kíli, but dared not.

“How was it for you?” she asked, genuinely curious. “Did Fíli give you much trouble?”

“Nah, he’s an easy lad. Asked for you, but we kept him fair well distracted. All the comings and goings got his attention well enough.” Dwalin smiled and added, “Hervor appointed herself the house guard, she stood by the door and shooed away busybodies, only gave the time of day to folks who she knew had a vested interest.”

Dís chortled. Good old Hervor, separating the ore from the gangue, of course she _would_ give herself a task that would lend her plenty of gossip for discussion. “She did well, I heartily approve of all my visitors today.”

“She’s a good lass,” Dwalin nodded. “Balin and I did the cooking - he did, mostly, if your supper’s awful, it’s on his head.”

“I’m so hungry, you could have boiled your boots and served them up, I wouldn’t know the difference,” Dís lamented. “Only I don’t want to move him too much, he _just_ decided this is where he’s comfortable, so this is where he stays.”

Dwalin’s dark eyes slid down to the child and then immediately shot straight back up to Dís’s face. If it wasn’t such a sorry situation, she’d find it terribly funny. “Come up with a Name for him, yet?”

Dís took a breath and let it out in a low rush, shaking her head. Eight days. She still had eight days. “We didn’t...no. Plenty of time, we thought.”

Regretting his thoughtless question, Dwalin nodded silently and tried to change the subject. Tried to make her laugh, it was something her husband would have done. “Well, you’ll be able to put your feet up and have a rest. Folks’ll be bringing food by and the house is spotless.”

Dís groaned. “Oh, no, don’t tell me you _cleaned_ as well!” Birthing was a long and painful process, but it was a very weak-willed dwarrowdam who lazed about in bed for days after the fact. Many a woman birthed a child and was up and about, back to work, if their family needed the income. She personally met more than a handful of women who went down into the mines with week-old infants on their backs. The least she could do was scrub her own floors.

Dwalin chuckled, “Wasn’t me, nor Balin neither. Poor old Glóin, with his brother tending to you and his wife barring the door, he didn’t know what to do with himself. So he cleaned the house.”

Wide blue eyes crinkled at the edges and Dís found herself laughing so hard her eyes got wet for she could just imagine Glóin, proud, stubborn Glóin standing in the middle of the hall, twiddling his thumbs and finding it a relief to take up a broomstick for the sake of having some occupation. “Oh, well, I’ll have to thank him very kindly for that,” she said at last. “You should’ve seen him holding Kíli, you’d have thought the lad was a goblin babe with a full set of fangs, ready to bite him.”

“I think I was the same when you handed Fíli off to me,” Dwalin recalled. “Never knew a living thing could be so small.”

“Nonsense, you were a natural,” Dís declared. “Took to him like he was your very own.”

Dwalin only smiled at that, stiff and slightly pained around the edges and Dís cursed herself for a fool. It was too late. It was too soon. And she was too tired for this. Kíli, either sensing his mother’s exhaustion or feeling overwhelmed by the day himself fell asleep and Dís, though all the ambivalence and anxiety coursing through her managed to look at that peaceful little face and feel some grain of happiness, pure and incorruptible. “There you are,” she said, holding him out to Dwalin. “Your turn.”

As she tugged her tunic back on and laced it loosely, Dwalin’s attention was once more diverted away from her, this time without effort. Kíli did seem impossibly small against Dwalin’s broad chest, nestled safely in his strong arms. “He’s a bonny lad,” Dwalin said softly. “A right bonny lad.” And he looked at the infant’s mother, pale and exhausted-looking, hair lank and thought she’d never been more beautiful. But he didn’t say that. Instead, he merely remarked, “He’s got your ears.”

Dís grinned then, broad and genuine. “Poor thing,” she sighed. “Not three hours old and already getting criticized.”

Dwalin tilted his head and regarded her frankly. “It was a compliment,” he said. Then, hesitating a second he added, “Not a thing about you I’d change. Not a thing that isn’t lovely.” 

She had no idea what to say to that. Not for the first time that day, she thought she might cry. “That’s...you’re just...” Dís searched her mind for a quick retort, something pithy and witty, but came up empty. “Thank you,” she settled on, finding the words so inadequate it was nearly embarrassing. For what was she thanking him? Not just the compliment, that was for sure. For loving her, despite her many faults? For doing his level best not to let her know he loved her? She did not doubt that he would take the secret of his passion with him to the grave if she never brought it up.

For Durin’s sake, she needed to say something, but she could not find the words. Looking at her son, her husband’s son cradled so gently in the arms of another dwarf made her feel such an awful tangle of emotions: grief, pride, sorrow, joy and _love_ , love above all else. Voicing one, she felt, would diminish all the others, so she kept her peace and held out her arms for her son. Dwalin returned him to her and left her, a softly voiced promise that he would see her tomorrow. 

The honest longing in his eyes as he left her was too much for her poor tattered heart. When he shut the door behind him, Dís finally allowed herself to feel the full weight of the day’s strain. Alone in the darkened room but for her peacefully sleeping son in her arms, she bowed her head and wept.


End file.
